


The sleep of the haunted

by TheBlazeCal



Series: Finished Taskpool stories [12]
Category: Deadpool (Comics)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, tw abuse!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 10:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7972816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBlazeCal/pseuds/TheBlazeCal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's perfect recollection makes it hard to leave anything behind him and sometimes it sucks him in the memories so deeply, he can't get out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sleep of the haunted

When dealing with a shit-ton from your past that you would do anything to forget your sleeping habits can go in two ways, you either sleep almost constantly, in dreamless slumber, or get barely any sleep, your dreams haunted by the things you wished more than anything would just stay buried. 

Tony remembered in clear detail every minute of every day of his life starting at age seven, from the moment he had woken up with eyes glowing yellow. So much that he wanted to forget, so much that he needed to let slip from memory, but never could.

The dark room was perfectly silent - not a single sound could be heard except for Tony's slowing heart rate and breathing. His eyes blinked slowly as they fought against the sleep that was claiming him after over 30 hours of being awake.

He felt the first hit like a sledgehammer, paralysing fear coursed through him as he tried to crawl away from the huge figure over him, his fearful breathing ragged and shallow. 

The figure took off their belt and started lashing him with it, hitting his back since he had rolled up in a fearful reflex. They whipped him eccentrically -  no rhythm. No chance to set up a response to minimise his pain.

“You disgusting mutant freak!”

“I am sorry, please forgive me! Por favor perdóname!”

The hits never seemed to end, they just changed; his surroundings changed; but the figure never left. Tony’s begging had died out quickly. He took the blows in silence, enduring them. His back ever raw, rarely bleeding. 

When they finally stopped he found himself staring into the darkness, his back aching as he curled up in the blankets, hoping that it was over. Hoping that it would be over forever. His breathing stopped in his throat when he heard the footsteps in the hallway. Heavy, slow methodical thuds. 

He closed his eyes tighter, burying himself in his blanket as much as he could - his blanket was his safe haven; asleep he was safe, asleep he would be safe.

The door creaked as it opened, the footsteps came closer, the sound of a belt unbuckling before a hand grabbed his hair tensely, yanking him of the bed, the smell of alcohol coming from the figure that loomed above him.

“You disgusting freak, everybody loves you so much because you’re so damn perfect huh! IF ONLY THEY KNEW! HOW! IMPERFECT! YOU! REALLY! ARE!” 

Every word got accentuated with a swing of the belt, the pain of the blows stacking up as they became, unerringly, more violent. Tony swore he was bleeding this time. He had nearly lost the ability to breathe, when he heard a woman’s voice, his mother's voice. 

“No, madre. Está bien.” 

He felt her warm body over his as she yelled at the figure, using her own body to shield him. The pain of her pressing against his sore body was nothing compared with the pain he felt when he heard the sound of the smack. 

He clenched his eyes shut so tightly they hurt, balling his fists up to the point where his nails dug deep into the skin of his palms. His knuckles went white from the tension, his breathing quickening till he couldn’t really get any air.

When he opened his eyes he found himself in bed again, breathing shallow and fast, tears flowing freely. Tony clutched  the pillows nervously, seeking comfort and protection, the sounds of the blows echoing in his head.. 

Deliberate, heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway outside his door, the door creaking open slowly. Tony tried to force himself to calm down, he wouldn’t show that man weakness, he wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. 

Once again his fate was sealed as the footsteps neared his bed, heavy and slow, with clear purpose. His body tensed involuntarily when the bed dipped under a weight. 

“Tony? … Sweetie?” 

The hesitant raspy voice didn’t belong in this place, didn’t belong to him, it was out of place. His body trembling as his tears stained the pillow he had pressed himself into, trying to disappear, wanting nothing more than to disappear. 

Carefully a strong hand rubbed his back through the blankets, at first he winced in pain, but it faded as the familiar sensation of that kind touch calmed him down. He released the blankets a little allowing the figure to peel them away before the bad dipped more and the large figure laid on the bed next to him, arms wrapping around Tony carefully. 

“It was just a dream. You’re safe…”

His first response was denial, of course he wasn’t safe - the next lash could come at any moment, but as he moved his hands to the figure’s chest to push himself away he felt the texture of scars. So many scars, lumps, and pits... It wasn’t  _ his _ chest. 

His hands traveled further up, grasping tightly onto the shoulders of the figure in bed with him now, the figure that wasn’t him. His breathing slowly evened out as he pressed his face in the heavily textured chest, finding the heartbeat there.

The rhythmic sound of the heart next to his ear calming his breathing, allowing him to regain some ability to think beyond panic and pain.

“There you go. Would you like to talk about it?”

The deep hoarse rumbling voice finally registered - it was Wade Wilson, his partner and housemate. More often than not they shared a bed now, but they had separate rooms, but Tony still hated to show weakness, to show anything of emotion to anyone, even to the man he had shown his face.

Tony buried his face deeper into his partner’s chest, letting one hand slip from Wade’s shoulder before sliding it under Wade’s arm, to his back, tracing the scars there as he calmed himself further. 

Distancing himself from the past that haunted him. The past that would never leave him, not just because of the load they carried, but because of the curse his powers brought on him. It dawned on him how silent Wade was being right now. 

The unusual silence made the moment feel weird, but Wade’s hold on him was comforting. Biting the inside of his cheek for a moment, Tony wondered what he should do, realizing Wade could already feel the tears on his chest, had already noticed the weakness he was experiencing. 

“My dad…” it was a whisper, but the tightening grip around him told him it was enough. They no longer needed to communicate through words. Tony had let Wade at his back, had shown him his face... and now some of his heart. He could only hope that he could keep this comfort for as long as he lived.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you just gotta


End file.
